Bored and drabbling
Jan. 8th, 2006 08:06 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
nute.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
x_projectWhile working on fic, I need something to keep my mind spinning on all cylinders. So I already got hit up with three drabble requests - feel free to make more.
Dani stretched her back, fingers reaching to grasp her feet, tucking them in and coiling her body forward in a yoga pose. Glancing up through her hair, she saw one of the small children watching her. Shaking her dark locks away from her eyes, she smiled and motioned him forward.
"Come on, Artie," she cajoled, "It's called yoga, it's good exercise."
Artie cocked his head, projecting the image of a rubber band, then himself tied in a complex knot, hands waving helplessly. He giggled as Danielle rolled onto her stomach and arched her back to grasp her feet. The image changed to Dani, green-skinned on a lily pad catching flies with her tongue.
Blinking, she rolled towards Artie, who simply scampered away as he mutely projected the flashing colors that passed as laughter for him. Grinning, Dani stretched out her legs before loping down the hall.
Chasing nine year olds was good exercise too.
---
"Man, and I thought *I* was a picky eater." Kyle looked over his ham sandwich at Haroun rummaging through the refrigerator. "Your mutation messes with what you can eat too?"
Haroun shook his head, pushing aside the packages of the forbidden hot dogs, crab salad, and meatloaf. While Lorna was good at providing food that at least was kosher, it was doubtful that the proper preparations for halal food were kept in this kitchen. Grabbing the tupperware container marked with the Arabic writing on top, he withdrew a lamb falafel from his supplier in the Village, sliding it into the microwave.
"Religion, actually," he explained as the boy took another bite of his sandwich. "Ham is one of those foods that I do not find myself missing, to be honest."
"My mom made ham on Wonder bread for just about every lunch," Kyle said, shoving another bite past his fangs. "You ever miss the food your mom made?"
Haroun smiled, deciding to play with the boy a little. "She made the best horse stew. From only the slow horses, you understand. The best ones were only for special occasions."
Watching the young feral turn a shocked shade of green and make a quick excuse to leave the kitchen was almost as enjoyable as hearing the microwave chime, Haroun thought.
---
"That ain't a real dog."
"It is so. Technically."
"They're popular in Southern California."
"We ain't in Southern California."
"Good point. But this is a dog store, so technically I suppose it's a dog."
"If I can fit it in my pocket, it ain't a real dog. Probably a rat. Why we in here?"
"Moira thinks we should get a dog for Rachel when she's older. I'm thinking something that'll be easy to play with until she's about thirteen, then can terrify anyone who even looks at her cross-eyed."
"She ain't even nine months old and you're worried about her dating? That's called paranoia."
"It's called parenting, Cain. You should try it sometime."
"..."
"You're right, let's just finish looking at dogs."
"Your wife sent you out for theater tickets, I thought."
"Which are not sold out yet, which is why we are here looking at dogs."
"Rats."
"Whatever."
Jay reached up the neck of his guitar, strumming the E string and tuning it until the note was just perfect. Absently, he plucked at the strings, playing a staccato tune meant for banjos in the old Kentucky woods, but was always a good exercise to keep his fingers limber.
As the last note faded, he heard an echo from the other side of the room, and glanced over to see Jono, leather jacket bunched up under his head, reclining on top of the piano holding his electric guitar to his chest. Furrowing his brow, Jay played a few bars, hearing them immediately echoed in counterpoint by his sister's boyfriend.
Jay glared, letting out his breath in a huff as he rushed into a glissando up the fretboard, fingers flying faster and faster. Jono kept up with the tempo change almost casually, sunglasses down over his eyes, still staring up at the ceiling. Both tunes, acoustic and electric, began to syncopate and mesh.
Finally, the impromptu duel came to a crashing close, the last notes echoing off the walls. Slowly, Jono sat up, not removing his sunglasses. Ever so slightly, he inclined his head towards Jay, a small nod as if to say "Not bad."
Jay curled his mouth in a smirk. "Let's see ya do it outside," he challenged, then walked out the door.
The pot had grown on this hand to an insane amount. And the audience didn't help any. Cain Marko looked at his cards, masking his reaction behind a stone-faced grimace. He glanced to his right, where Catseye grinned behind purple locks of hair, scratching idly at the top of the deck. The traditional green visor work by poker dealers was being spun around by her tail, and she kept craning her neck to look around the pile of cookies, gummi worms, and one IOU for a lawn-mowing in the center of the table.
Across from Cain, Miles bit his lower lip, sliding one card over to Catseye. In return, she flicked one card face-down to him. The boy didn't look at it, merely squaring up his hand and laying it face-down on the table. "Mister Marko," he said, "Miles is calling your bluff."
"Lot of cookies on the line, kiddo," Cain responded gruffly. "You sure you don't want to look at your card?"
Miles shook his head.
Cain smiled, laying down his hand of four threes and a jack. "Four of a kind, kiddo. Not good odds for you."
Ace. Ace. Ace. Four. Miles' hand paused over his last card. "Never tell Miles the odds."
Ace of Clubs.
The third-period Elementary History class erupted in applause as Miles hugged the pile of cookies towards him, already starting to divvy them out for his classmates.
Where Domino had acquired six plastic bananas, three oranges, a clump of artificial grapes, and a papaya was indeed a mystery. Yet she was managing to juggle all eleven pieces of fake fruit effortlessly as she balanced on a barstool in the mansion's kitchen.
Forge paused, half-leaning into the refrigerator as he watched her while questing for more soda to take down to the lab. "Not bad," he finally commented. "I can only get up to four before I start dropping stuff."
"All in the reflexes," Domino answered casually, bouncing every other piece off her left knee before tossing it back into the air. "You should practice more. Trust me, girls love it."
Forge's only answer was a snort of amusement before tucking the six-pack under his arm and walking for the stairs. "I'll stick to the simple machines, thank you."
Dani stretched her back, fingers reaching to grasp her feet, tucking them in and coiling her body forward in a yoga pose. Glancing up through her hair, she saw one of the small children watching her. Shaking her dark locks away from her eyes, she smiled and motioned him forward.
"Come on, Artie," she cajoled, "It's called yoga, it's good exercise."
Artie cocked his head, projecting the image of a rubber band, then himself tied in a complex knot, hands waving helplessly. He giggled as Danielle rolled onto her stomach and arched her back to grasp her feet. The image changed to Dani, green-skinned on a lily pad catching flies with her tongue.
Blinking, she rolled towards Artie, who simply scampered away as he mutely projected the flashing colors that passed as laughter for him. Grinning, Dani stretched out her legs before loping down the hall.
Chasing nine year olds was good exercise too.
---
"Man, and I thought *I* was a picky eater." Kyle looked over his ham sandwich at Haroun rummaging through the refrigerator. "Your mutation messes with what you can eat too?"
Haroun shook his head, pushing aside the packages of the forbidden hot dogs, crab salad, and meatloaf. While Lorna was good at providing food that at least was kosher, it was doubtful that the proper preparations for halal food were kept in this kitchen. Grabbing the tupperware container marked with the Arabic writing on top, he withdrew a lamb falafel from his supplier in the Village, sliding it into the microwave.
"Religion, actually," he explained as the boy took another bite of his sandwich. "Ham is one of those foods that I do not find myself missing, to be honest."
"My mom made ham on Wonder bread for just about every lunch," Kyle said, shoving another bite past his fangs. "You ever miss the food your mom made?"
Haroun smiled, deciding to play with the boy a little. "She made the best horse stew. From only the slow horses, you understand. The best ones were only for special occasions."
Watching the young feral turn a shocked shade of green and make a quick excuse to leave the kitchen was almost as enjoyable as hearing the microwave chime, Haroun thought.
---
"That ain't a real dog."
"It is so. Technically."
"They're popular in Southern California."
"We ain't in Southern California."
"Good point. But this is a dog store, so technically I suppose it's a dog."
"If I can fit it in my pocket, it ain't a real dog. Probably a rat. Why we in here?"
"Moira thinks we should get a dog for Rachel when she's older. I'm thinking something that'll be easy to play with until she's about thirteen, then can terrify anyone who even looks at her cross-eyed."
"She ain't even nine months old and you're worried about her dating? That's called paranoia."
"It's called parenting, Cain. You should try it sometime."
"..."
"You're right, let's just finish looking at dogs."
"Your wife sent you out for theater tickets, I thought."
"Which are not sold out yet, which is why we are here looking at dogs."
"Rats."
"Whatever."
Jay reached up the neck of his guitar, strumming the E string and tuning it until the note was just perfect. Absently, he plucked at the strings, playing a staccato tune meant for banjos in the old Kentucky woods, but was always a good exercise to keep his fingers limber.
As the last note faded, he heard an echo from the other side of the room, and glanced over to see Jono, leather jacket bunched up under his head, reclining on top of the piano holding his electric guitar to his chest. Furrowing his brow, Jay played a few bars, hearing them immediately echoed in counterpoint by his sister's boyfriend.
Jay glared, letting out his breath in a huff as he rushed into a glissando up the fretboard, fingers flying faster and faster. Jono kept up with the tempo change almost casually, sunglasses down over his eyes, still staring up at the ceiling. Both tunes, acoustic and electric, began to syncopate and mesh.
Finally, the impromptu duel came to a crashing close, the last notes echoing off the walls. Slowly, Jono sat up, not removing his sunglasses. Ever so slightly, he inclined his head towards Jay, a small nod as if to say "Not bad."
Jay curled his mouth in a smirk. "Let's see ya do it outside," he challenged, then walked out the door.
The pot had grown on this hand to an insane amount. And the audience didn't help any. Cain Marko looked at his cards, masking his reaction behind a stone-faced grimace. He glanced to his right, where Catseye grinned behind purple locks of hair, scratching idly at the top of the deck. The traditional green visor work by poker dealers was being spun around by her tail, and she kept craning her neck to look around the pile of cookies, gummi worms, and one IOU for a lawn-mowing in the center of the table.
Across from Cain, Miles bit his lower lip, sliding one card over to Catseye. In return, she flicked one card face-down to him. The boy didn't look at it, merely squaring up his hand and laying it face-down on the table. "Mister Marko," he said, "Miles is calling your bluff."
"Lot of cookies on the line, kiddo," Cain responded gruffly. "You sure you don't want to look at your card?"
Miles shook his head.
Cain smiled, laying down his hand of four threes and a jack. "Four of a kind, kiddo. Not good odds for you."
Ace. Ace. Ace. Four. Miles' hand paused over his last card. "Never tell Miles the odds."
Ace of Clubs.
The third-period Elementary History class erupted in applause as Miles hugged the pile of cookies towards him, already starting to divvy them out for his classmates.
Where Domino had acquired six plastic bananas, three oranges, a clump of artificial grapes, and a papaya was indeed a mystery. Yet she was managing to juggle all eleven pieces of fake fruit effortlessly as she balanced on a barstool in the mansion's kitchen.
Forge paused, half-leaning into the refrigerator as he watched her while questing for more soda to take down to the lab. "Not bad," he finally commented. "I can only get up to four before I start dropping stuff."
"All in the reflexes," Domino answered casually, bouncing every other piece off her left knee before tossing it back into the air. "You should practice more. Trust me, girls love it."
Forge's only answer was a snort of amusement before tucking the six-pack under his arm and walking for the stairs. "I'll stick to the simple machines, thank you."
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no subject
Date: 2006-01-09 02:20 am (UTC)And you realize that any dog Rachel would get, would eventually turn out to be an unholy terror anyway? Look at Bella! >:D
no subject
Date: 2006-01-09 02:27 am (UTC)"That dog is giving me the most intelligent glare I've ever seen. On anybody."
"Oh, don't mind him, he's an adorable little boo."
"Look at his teeth. That thing is saying 'I bet I can burrow into your leg and eat my way up to your balls if you make one twitch I don't like.'"
"Don't be silly."
no subject
Date: 2006-01-09 02:29 am (UTC)>:D
no subject
Date: 2006-01-09 02:43 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-01-09 02:59 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-01-09 03:09 am (UTC)"Also, I can kill you with my brain."
;)
no subject
Date: 2006-01-09 04:31 am (UTC)